


Lights Down Low

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, Fluff, Plot What Plot, Smut, Smutty fluffy denial, anyways i'm in denial so back to season 1 we go, hints of submissive bellamy, i don't make the rules okay, just bell being good to his girl, seriously i couldn't stop thinking about this unity days post, with feelings bc it's me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: Post 1x09, canon divergence. After the Unity Day celebration goes off without a hitch, Clarke finds Bellamy.Based on this tumblr post that made my shipper head lose all chill:https://still-watching.tumblr.com/post/174926744938/when-bellamy-and-clarke-were-flirting-during-the





	Lights Down Low

**Author's Note:**

> hi. I don't do angst.

_Best Unity Day ever._

Bellamy allows himself a small grin as he enters his tent, more than ready to fall onto his blankets. Laughter and the occasional clink of glass still echo outside, the general merriment buoyed into the night by Monty's extra-special moonshine. Bellamy's glad for it. It's been too long since he saw his friends relax and act their age again. And by some miracle, the flowing alcohol hadn't resulted in any major injuries or mishaps. It had simply done its job and let everyone forget, even if for a moment, all the stress and worries of the ground. 

In any case, worrying is his job. Well — his and Clarke's. 

He's starting to accept that they might be a team now, so he doesn't resist the natural pull of his thoughts to her like he once did. He knows her mind works far too fast and far too much, but he hopes she's found some respite tonight. With a sigh, he removes his jacket and is attempting to stretch out the kinks in his neck when he spots the silhouette outside in the light from his lantern.

There's little warning but the crunch of twigs underfoot and then a figure pushes past the flap of his tent. Bellamy whirls around, his gun up and pointed directly at the intruder's heart before his brain properly processes the blonde hair and blue eyes staring back.

Clarke stands in front of him, a corner of her mouth upturned as she waits for him to catch up.

He sighs and glares before lowering the gun. “It's not smart to sneak up on me, princess.”

“Didn't know I was being sneaky,” she says lightly. 

He grunts. “What’s happened now?”

Her smile disappears even as she steps further into his tent. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m assuming you didn’t show up here to chat,” he says dryly, already shoving his arms into his coat again. “So what is it this time? Jasper finally hurt himself after all that moonshine? Another special Grounder trap?”

“Oh.” Clarke’s expression shifts, and she looks away for a moment. It’s only a second of hesitation, but it’s enough to make him pause his movements and study her more closely. There’s a touch of pink to her cheeks, and she’s hooked her fingers around her belt loops, an odd fidgeting to her that normally isn’t present. Add to that that even the occasional celebratory passersby make her stiffen, and his curiosity grows tenfold.

“Clarke.”

She glances up again, meeting his eyes briefly, and then — _then_ , her gaze drops to his mouth, lingering, and it’s like he’s forgotten to breathe.

“It’s not — nothing’s happened,” she says quickly. “Everyone’s okay.”

“Okay…” Bellamy clears his throat and sets his gun down carefully. She's returned to studying her shoes with a determination that has him afraid to make any sudden movements. It’s like he and Clarke have completely switched places, and her newfound agitation is making him extra cautious.

He waits for her to look back at him, and there it is again for a flash — she _wants_ to be here. With him.

Shit.

Okay, he can deal with this. He knows how to deal with this. Usually. With girls who aren’t Clarke “I’ll-give-that-to-you” Griffin.

Clarke looks up at that second. It’s too late to school his own expression, though he tries to anyways out of sheer stubbornness. This girl’s gotten so far past his walls it’s almost laughable, except for the fact that it terrifies him more than anything he’s ever known.

Whatever she sees on his face makes her pause uncertainly. He’s almost positive she’s rethinking whatever the hell made her come all the way out here when a loud bark of laughter from outside makes them both freeze. They’re silent until the conversation fades away, and by the time Clarke meets his gaze again Bellamy’s made up his mind. He's not letting her run away.

Shrugging off his jacket, he smirks lazily and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “So if no one’s hurt, and there’s no crisis, what brings you here, princess?” When Clarke doesn’t answer, he chances a step forward. Her eyes are glued to his every motion but she doesn’t move. He takes courage from that and gasps in mock horror, putting a hand to his chest. “Wait, don’t tell me you actually _wanted_ to see me?”

It works. Clarke rolls her eyes, but the grin that pulls at her mouth is genuine, just like the one from hours before, when they’d stood by the fire and he'd told himself the butterflies in his stomach were just his imagination.

“I’m already regretting this,” she snarks back, but her smile is too bright for it to bite, and he grins freely, the rest of their tension evaporating.

“So I’m guessing you had that drink?”

“I had more than one,” Clarke replies, looking very pleased with herself, and he can’t help but chuckle. She is a damn cute drunk.

“Good. I meant what I said before. You deserved to have some fun.” Bellamy knows she enjoyed herself. As the night went on he’d found his gaze drawn to her, looking for her out of habit and also just out of some newfound protectiveness that he’s not ready to analyze just yet.

Her smile lingers. This time she's a hell of a lot less subtle about checking him out, and it sends his pulse skyrocketing. He's searching for a comment that won't give away just how fast his heart is pounding, when she looks up at him through her lashes and bites her bottom lip.

“What about you? You didn’t have any fun.” She doesn’t say it like a question — she says it like she knows. Like she was watching out for him, too.

The thought makes him shrug, and now he’s the one looking away as the nerves creep up. “I told you, I'll have my fun—”

“With the Grounders, yeah, I know,” Clarke finishes, then sticks out her tongue, teasing. “But I think we can do better than that, don’t you, Bell?”

Bellamy dies a small death on the spot. He thought their short time on the ground had prepared him for the unexpected — now he is fully aware that nothing in the universe could have prepared him for flirty Clarke. 

“You—” he clears his throat. “You still haven’t answered my question, princess.”

Clarke’s not a single bit fooled by his evasion, but instead of calling him on it like she normally would, she breaks into a playful smile. “ _I_ can be fun, you know,” she says coyly, inching closer, and his heart does several backflips in a row.

“Oh yeah?” His voice comes out hoarse, and Clarke giggles, because _shit,_ this amazing, infuriating girl doesn’t miss a thing.

“Don't try to tell me you prefer the Grounders.” Her eyebrow raises in challenge, and oh, he can’t let her get away with that. His next step brings him directly in front of her, and now he can see the flush in her cheeks properly, the same pink spreading across her chest and down the front of that infuriating henley.

“Is that why you’re here, Clarke? You just want to have some fun?” It comes out sharper than he intended, and he watches the line of her throat as she swallows, her confidence faltering.

“Do you want me to go?”

“That’s not what I said.”

She holds his gaze, and he wills her not to back down now, to understand what he’s saying. He knows she’s been through a lot with Finn and Raven. It’s the kind of shit he normally wouldn’t even want to touch with a ten-foot pole. But she’s standing in front of him right now looking at him like the sun after a storm, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that. So before anything else happens, he needs to be sure that she wants this. That she wants him. Even if it’s just for the night.

“Clarke,” he says quietly. “Are you here because you’re avoiding Finn?”

Her eyes flash. “What if I am?”

“Say it. I need to know why you're here.” Bellamy knows he’s pushing it, but he can feel his resolve slipping and he has to know before everything changes – why, of all tents, did she choose to walk into his tonight?

Clarke stares at him for a long time, and he feels like even though he’s the one asking questions, somehow he’s giving her all the answers, too. 

Finally she says, “I came here because I don’t want this feeling to end. Tonight has been— it's been _fun,"_ she tastes the word like it's brand new, and he gets that, he really does. "Tomorrow we go back to having to worry about everything and everyone. You said it yourself, the Exodus ship’s coming down in two days. And the Grounders— who knows what's going to happen next. Who might—” She can't finish, just lets out a heavy sigh, and it’s the disbelief, the note of despair that threatens to drag them both right back to reality, that has Bellamy reaching out to grasp her shoulder. 

It’s the first contact they’ve had all night, and whatever spark was burning in him before, it’s on fire now. 

"Hey," he says softly. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out, Clarke."

Her smile is firm this time. "I know we will," she replies, and the conviction in her voice, her inexplicable faith in him, _them,_ makes Bellamy stand a little straighter with some vindication he didn't know he needed but is grateful for all the same.

"But tonight," Clarke places a tentative hand on his chest, "I don't want to think about all that. I want to keep feeling good. Just for a bit longer.”

“I can make you feel better than good,” Bellamy hears himself promise, and Clarke’s eyes snap to his, a dark shade of blue that makes his knees weak. His hand moves to cup her neck without his permission, and he’s about to pull back except she leans into his touch, her other hand coming up to cover his.

“I know you will,” she says, nearly on her tiptoes, and it’s all the invitation he needs to pull her mouth to his.

Her lips are softer than they have any right to be, learning his with an eagerness that makes him wonder. Bellamy’s not surprised that Clarke kisses just as fiercely as she does everything else. It’s not in her to half-ass anything. And yet, he hears himself groan as she presses herself against him, all enticing curves and searching hands that make him want to shred every ounce of self-control and toss her on the bed. 

Her nails scraping under his shirt makes him wrench his mouth from hers, holding her at arm’s length while he tries to gather his wits again. Pouting, Clarke makes a noise low in her throat. Bellamy wants the redness on her cheeks to stay, wants to see her lips just as red and swollen, and he wants it to be because of _him._

This time he controls the kiss, hands framing her face and his tongue searching out every hint of the bitter moonshine and the occasional sweetness of strawberries. He’s rewarded by Clarke’s fingers winding into his hair as she stretches her arms around his neck, and for a few minutes they kiss and kiss. Bellamy is so lost in learning what each soft whine and tug of his hair might mean that he doesn’t pay attention to how attuned Clarke is to him, doesn’t consider that she might be doing the exact same thing.

When they come up for air again, he only moves his lips to her jaw, trailing kisses down her neck and stopping to suck at her pulse. Clarke sighs his name, low and raw, and _fuck, yes,_ he needs to hear that again. He bites a little in response and gets his wish.

“Bellamy,” Clarke pushes at his chest, and when he finally lifts his head he’s thrown by just how enchanting a sight she is, eyes heavy with wanting and that full mouth begging to be kissed again. He traces her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and she sighs, ducking her head to kiss his fingertip. It’s a small thing, but so unexpected and intimate that he can’t help his quiet intake of breath, and Clarke looks up at him and smiles.

“This is a good start,” she says, and he chuckles.

“Thanks for the ringing endorsement, princess.”

She makes a face. “You know what I mean.”

Bellamy’s enjoying himself. “No, I don’t think I do. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

Clarke grabs fistfuls of his shirt and brings his face close. “You’d better be planning to do more than kiss me,” she whispers, and yeah, alright, his entire body is alive now.

“As you wish,” he murmurs, and wraps his hands under her thighs. Clarke yelps as he lifts her, but gets with the program quickly enough, wrapping her legs around his waist as their mouths meet again. Getting to his bed is much more of a struggle and a hell of a lot less smooth than he would’ve liked, but, it’s fucking worth it when Clarke’s kissing him like there’s no tomorrow.

He finally settles down on the edge of his cot with Clarke in his lap, and boy does that do wonders for every dream he’s ever had. She shifts slightly to toss her jacket in a corner. Even the small motion makes the friction in his pants nearly unbearable, and he groans and dips his head forward against her breasts.

“Clarke,” he says roughly, hands catching on her hips, and he swears she’s smiling when she says, “Yes?”

He pinches her side lightly and looks up. “Come on, princess. What do you want?”

“I thought that was clear,” she replies after eagerly stripping him of his shirt, and he’s gratified to hear she’s a bit breathless.

Bellamy wraps his hand around her hair, pulling her back down for a long kiss. “Dealer’s choice,” he says when they part. “What do you want, Clarke? Hands? Mouth?”

“Hands,” she says instantly, then shoves at his shoulder. “Don’t be so smug about it.”

When it does nothing to stop his shit-eating grin, Clarke takes off her shirt.

“Fuck,” Bellamy draws a hand over his face, and now Clarke’s the smug one, pulling his mouth to hers with more urgency. He licks into her mouth the same way he plans to get his tongue on her clit later, his hands coming up to cup her perfect breasts, and the sound she makes combined with the obscene roll of her hips makes him swear into her skin again.

“Bellamy,” she bites his earlobe. “Touch me already.”

“Damn, Clarke,” he shakes his head, overwhelmed by everything about her. She rocks her hips again purposefully. “Alright, alright,” he groans. “You’re the boss, princess.” Her lips part for a moment, and when her blush deepens to an entirely new shade of red he hadn’t thought possible, he feels the breath knocked out of him for the second time tonight. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Is that what you need, Clarke?”

Clarke looks away for a moment, and he can feel her trying to put distance between them even though she’s literally in his lap, so he touches a finger to her chin, gentle, and guides her eyes back to his.

“I’ll give that to you,” he says, and there’s nowhere to hide the weight of the words, so he just lets them hang there and watches Clarke’s surprise transform into relief.

She nudges her nose against his, soft, and presses her lips to his. It’s easily the most chaste kiss they’ve had, but it’s the one he won’t be able to forget.

“Touch me, Bellamy,” she says again, her voice nothing more than a rasp, and he wastes no time.

Her pale skin is smooth but not unmarred. Not anymore. Every puckered scar and scratch are a reminder of what they’ve been through – what they’ve survived – and Bellamy traces his tongue over each one he encounters as he maps her body, slowing when he reaches the swell of her breasts. Clarke’s been relatively quiet until now, just sighs and the slight tremble of her fingers in his hair to guide his motions. But when his thumb scrapes over a cloth-covered nipple, he feels teeth on his shoulder and she rocks forward hard, and he all but growls. One hand relieves her of her bra easily, and then his lips have wrapped around a pink nipple and Clarke shudders and tangles her fingers into his hair _hard._

He sucks hard enough at the soft curve of her chest that he knows there will be a bruise the next day, and whatever, maybe the thought of leaving her a small reminder of this, _them,_ gets him going more than it should—

Clarke drags him back up for a biting kiss, and he wraps his arms around her, absently stroking her back until she’s mostly stopped shaking. Still kissing her, he unbuttons her jeans with one hand and slides a hand past her underwear.

“Jesus,” he mutters into her mouth, and she moans and tucks her face into his shoulder as he slides his fingers against her slick heat. It takes him a moment to do more than just that, slightly dazed by it all. "Princess, you're so wet."

"That's kind of how this works," Clarke manages with a husky laugh, and just for that he removes his hand. Her laugh turns into a mewl of protest as she tugs at his arm in vain. "Bellamy, come on," she urges.

"No," he says just to be a dick. "I think you should tell me more about how this works."

She shoves at his shoulder with a groan. "You're such an asshole."

"So you've said," he grins. "That get you going?" 

Clarke looks at him, considering, and he immediately wants to take the words back, feeling like he gave away something important just now. But before he can retreat in any way, she's drawn his face close. _"You_ get me going, Bellamy," she says, and the words go straight to his groin. She takes his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs. "So are you gonna do something about it?” 

It’s as much of a plea as it is an order, so Bellamy crushes his mouth to hers, a little reckless as he curls two fingers inside her and lets her rock down on his hand. She tears her mouth from his to gasp when he crooks his fingers just so, and he kisses her anywhere he can reach — her chest, her neck, the crease of her elbow, encouraging her on with nonsense whispers that he hopes she can’t quite hear against her skin.

When she makes a frustrated noise above him, he glances up. Her long hair sticks to the side of her face, and when he reaches up to push it away from her sweat-slicked skin she presses a kiss to his palm and it nearly undoes him.

“More,” she demands, and he adds a third finger, pushing the heel of his palm against her clit so she can grind down, catching her moan with a kiss as she finds a rhythm. It’s not long before she’s shaking again, his name spilling from her mouth in broken syllables as she tightens around his fingers. 

“Bell— Bellamy— oh god—”

“That’s it, princess,” he murmurs, kissing her neck. “You got it, come on. I’ve got you.” Clarke presses her forehead to his, panting, and he can see how badly she wants to come, but there’s something else, too. Behind the longing lies an uncertainty that makes him hold her tighter. When he figures it out, he bites her chin gently. “Oh, babe. This is only the start, we’ve got all night.”

Clarke blinks, then kisses him hard, curling her tongue around his, and _finally_ he feels the last of her hesitation break as she comes hot and messy all over his hand, his name tripping from her lips in stuttered gasps that make him want to do this over and over again. He strokes her back, peppering light kisses along her jaw until she tucks her head against his shoulder.

Carefully, he removes his hand from between her thighs, murmuring in sympathy when she clenches down with a small shudder. He licks his fingers clean without a second thought, and there’s only heat in Clarke's gaze as she leans up to kiss him deeply, arms locking around his neck. Bellamy maneuvers them so that she’s lying beneath him, his elbows braced by her head. He enjoys the simple pleasure of kissing her again for a little while, until she arches up under him and his whole body reminds him how badly he _wants._ He breaks away with a choked laugh, sitting up for a moment so that he doesn’t lose his shit on the spot.

Clarke grasps his arm, just gentle pressure of her thumb stroking his skin until he looks back at her, and fuck, what a goddamn sight she is on his bed. Her nipples are still tight and shiny from his attention, and his cock twitches at the thought getting his mouth back them again. He's going to get his mouth on every inch of her body before the night is over, he decides.

“Bellamy," Clarke's soft query pulls him out of his fantasy. "Did you mean it? What you said, earlier?” Her voice is deceptively neutral, and to anyone else it might seem like she doesn’t care, but Bellamy knows her now, and that shit doesn’t work on him anymore. 

“You know I did,” he says.

Clarke studies him a moment longer, then breaks into a sweet smile and holds out her arms. “C’mere, then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sounds of the party have long faded by the time Bellamy gets her off a third time, this time with slow licks between her legs until her hands tangle into his hair unbearably tight and hold him close. She comes with a small cry, her thighs trembling over his shoulders while he places soft kisses on her skin. Finally she taps his shoulder and he pulls himself up next to her, unsurprised when she presses close for a kiss.

He lets her push him back onto the pillows, unable to help grinning against her lips. “Like this position, do you, princess?” 

“I'm not the only one.” Clarke gives him a sly look, her eyebrow arching when he has no rebuttal. Alright, so she may have learned a few things about him tonight, too. She nips his jaw playfully, letting him draw her into another long kiss before shifting off him. Crossing her arms on her own pillow, she lays her head overtop them, her eyes drifting shut.

Bellamy lets himself look at her and doesn’t second-guess his instinct to reach out to trace down her back, the sweep of her hips. Her hair streams down her back, unpinned and considerably snarled after all the times he’s had it wrapped around his hands. He runs his fingers through it now, smoothing out the strands and tracing the odd pattern on her skin. His shoulder is beginning to sting a little from where she'd held onto him at first, nails pressing into his skin while he fucked into her slow and proper. She'd finally lost all patience and gotten him on his back soon enough, and her waist is marked with imprints of his fingers where he’d held her tight as she moved above him. He’s pretty sure he’ll never get the image out of his head — he’s not sure he wants to.

Clarke’s eyes open. She’s sleepy and unguarded, a carefree tilt to her smile that he can’t help but hope is just for him.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hey back.” He tucks a curl behind her ear. “Still feeling good?”

“Better than good,” she wiggles her eyebrows, her grin widening at his surprised bark of laughter.

Bellamy shakes his head. Monty’s moonshine must have one hell of a half-life if Clarke’s still feeling this goofy. Unless — could this be a side to her he’s just never seen? It’s not like they’ve been the best of friends up til now. She’s had no reason to do more than yell or argue, and in the few moments they weren’t doing that, they’ve been too busy trying to stay alive.

The more he thinks about it, the more he hopes it’s _not_ the moonshine. He wants to be someone Clarke feels comfortable around. They seem to have found some common ground in leadership, but he’s realizing now he wants more than that. What that could be, he has no idea, but this, right here — it feels good. And good things have been few and far between on the ground.

A tap to his shoulder brings him back to the present. Clarke’s shifted closer, blue eyes wide and concerned. “Hey,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”

Partly to clear his thoughts and partly because he can’t resist now that they've started, he kisses her. “Yeah,” he assures her after. “I’m fine.”

“Just fine?” A frown pulls at her mouth, and he has to grin.

“Much better than fine. Trust me, princess, tonight surpassed all expectations.”

The blush on her cheeks returns. “Speaking of tonight,” she bites her lip, fiddling with the watch on her wrist. “Are we okay?”

He keeps his voice even. “You tell me.”

Her eyes flick up to his, and she must see the stubbornness written on his face, because she sighs her _what am I going to do with you_ sigh. “I’m serious, Bellamy. You could’ve kicked me out earlier, but you didn’t.”

Bellamy can’t help his laugh. “First of all, Clarke, I’m pretty sure no one could make you do anything you didn’t want to, and second of all, I don’t know anyone who could’ve resisted a beautiful girl showing up in their tent.”

Alright, so maybe he didn’t need to say the second part, but the shy smile that crosses her face is reward enough. “Still. I know it was kind of out of the blue, so… I guess what I’m trying to say is, thanks for being here for me.”

“You’re welcome.” Bellamy searches her face. “Is that all?” At her questioning glance, he elaborates. “You’ve got that look, princess.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose. “What look?”

“The look that says you want to tell me something, but you don’t really want to tell me.” 

“You shouldn’t know that look yet,” she mutters.

 _I want to know so much more,_ he nearly says. Instead he taps the side of her forehead lightly. “Come on, Clarke. What’s going on in that brilliant head of yours?”

Her mouth twists into a smile. “Brilliant?”

"Don’t try to change the subject.”

Clarke sighs again. “Alright. I guess I’m just wondering, is tonight— well, what did it mean to you?”

“It can be whatever you need it to be,” he says honestly.

“But what is it to you?” She presses, and he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes for a moment. Of course she can’t just let it go at that. There’s nothing casual about what just happened, not for him. But he doesn’t need her pity if she’s not on the same page as him, either. He wonders briefly if this is a test. She can see right through him; she’ll know a lie the moment it leaves his mouth. And this is too important to fuck around with.

Bellamy meets her gaze squarely. “Look, Clarke, it’s— it’s something. I don’t… I don’t know what exactly, because it’s late as hell and I’m exhausted, but I know it meant something. Something good,” he adds in case it wasn’t clear.

Clarke watches him for a minute, and he lets her, too tired to put up a front at this point. Finally she gets a tiny, secretive smile on her face.

“Yeah. It’s something good," she agrees, and _goddamn,_ there are definitely butterflies in his stomach now and they're never going to leave. He knows he's grinning ear to ear when Clarke's smile widens. They lie there grinning at each other like fools before she finally breaks the spell, rising to her elbow. “I guess I should get back before anyone jumps to conclusions.”

He catches her wrist before she can get up. “I doubt anyone’s thinking anything with all the alcohol, but it'd probably cause more of a scene if you ran into anyone now. You should just stay and head back in the morning. No one wakes up earlier than you, anyways,” he adds with a grin. 

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point there.”

“I’m getting used to arguing with you, princess.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but to his delight, lays her head back on the pillow. “And yet you won’t stop calling me princess.”

He laughs. “You’ve gotta learn to appreciate the small victories.”

She shakes her head with a smile and curls against him. “Good night, Bellamy.”

“Night, Clarke.”

He wakes to early rays of sunlight streaming into the tent and a warm weight at his back. When he looks down, Clarke’s arm is thrown over his hip, a leg wedged between both of his, her body molded close despite all the extra space on the bed. Bellamy grins to himself.

Small victories, indeed.


End file.
